


After Case After Care

by round_robin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gift Fic, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have many post-case rituals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Case After Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valeria2067](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for the amazing valeria2067. Many happy returns to her. :) A little birdie (in the form of idratherbereading) told me a few of her favourite kinks and I tried to do a new twist on that.
> 
> I tried to find all the typos, but if I missed any, please report them to me so I can have them caught and shot.

**After Case**

Sherlock’s back hit the door before it was even shut. John’s hand reached down the back of his trousers in record time, wrapping desperate fingers around one perfect buttock and squeezing.

“Yeeeessss…” plush, hungry lips hissed against his, biting and sucking at anything they could reach.

A few frantic moments passed pressed up against the door, hands and teeth and lips going everywhere. Eventually, John got both of Sherlock’s pale, perfect wrists in one hand and pinned them above the detective’s head. Sherlock moaned at the slight pressure. The way his wrists were forced a bit too far, the boney nubs scraping against the unmoving wood… oh, it was heaven. Just what he—just what _they_ —needed after a case.

He could still feel it. The burn of adrenaline singing in his veins, the thrill of the chase. It lit Sherlock’s blood like nothing else could.

To think, he first thought this case would be boring. Not a murder, just a simple counterfeiting ring. Dull. Probably be over in two hours. Sherlock was never happier to be wrong. Not when the counterfeiter led to a drug ring, human trafficking group, and an international smuggling operation. In one night, Sherlock had successfully put the London branches of two major crime families out of business, and it all terminated in a thrilling chase across the roofs of London as the original suspect tried to make his escape. When they finally cornered him, John pulled his gun and very politely _convinced_ him to come quietly. If they hadn’t been working, Sherlock would’ve jumped John right there. The only thing that could have made tonight better would’ve been getting a blow job while Anderson sobbed in the corner.

At least one of those things could (and would) be accomplished very soon.

John, on the other hand, was perfectly calm. His body was on fire, practically vibrating with want, but his mind was still, almost serene. He knew what a night like this meant and plans were already forming in his head. Oh, the things they were going to do…

Another moment passed with nothing but teeth and tongues, not warring, simply enjoying the immediate thrill of a job well done.

John was the first to pull back. Already panting, he only moved far enough to make sure his words weren’t mumbled or lost in Sherlock’s beautiful mouth. With a squeeze to his trapped wrists, and another to the butt cheek clasped in his fingers, John smiled. “Right,” he whispered. “Ropes or the spreader bar?”

Sherlock’s lips curled into a smile. He leaned forward and covered the small distance between them, giving John a quick kiss before answering: “Yes.”

“Christ…” Inside the confines of his trousers, John’s cock gave a little twitch.

Fuck, he loved this man.

 

**After Care**

John Watson was many things. Soldier, doctor, lover, put-upon flatmate of the world’s most brilliant and insufferable detective. Right now, he was probably a bit of everything as his gentle doctor’s hands untied the soft cords around Sherlock’s wrists after one of their sessions. Not too bad, only a bit of bruising, and mostly that was from Sherlock’s colouring. That alabaster skin was far too easy to mark. Sherlock always loved it, but it took John a while to get used to the black and blue marks their fun left all over Sherlock.

Kind hands stayed in contact with that skin as John crawled down the bed, stopping at Sherlock’s knees to remove the spreader bar. A little bit of rope burn on the outside of his legs; John must remember to watch how much he let Sherlock pull at everything.

While John worked, Sherlock didn’t even move. His arms were spread out next to his head exactly where John left them after untying him. When the spreader bar was gone, his knees flopped out to the sides, too blissed-out to move anything. Swimming in subspace, he barely felt the fingers probing at his well-used arse. Not for pleasure, this time his doctor was checking him over.

“I’m fine.” Sherlock didn’t know how, but he did manage to speak. “You know how to handle me properly.” In every way.

John gave him a small smile before continuing his inspection. And Sherlock let him. Using what little energy he had left, he spread his legs wider then promptly vowed to move no more. He lay there in a puddle of content while John poked at him, muttering under his breath the whole time.

“A few brush burns on your legs,” he said. “I’ll get some salve for those in a minute. For the paddling it took, your arse is in good shape.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “Well, that’s a bit of an understatement, isn’t it?”

Soft kisses followed. Feather-light brushes of lips across bruised skin. A different kind of medicine that didn’t do as much to treat the actual injury, but Sherlock loved it all the same. More, perhaps. He never thought he’d be one taken in by sentiment, but John brought out the best in him, so maybe a bit of sentiment was alright now and again.

There were no more kisses now. The bed creaked as John got up and walked to the bathroom for the first aid kit and a wet towel. He came back in and wiped Sherlock down before applying lotion and salve to tender skin. Every touch sent a spark through him, but it wasn’t like before. When they first arrived home, it was all heat, and the need for things to happen _nownownow_.

This spark was entirely different, and had Sherlock been a poetic man, he might’ve been able to come up with something overly florid and soppy to describe it. Since he wasn’t, he didn’t. The only name he could put to this feeling was fairly common, but by no means unimportant.

Dragging one of his tired arms off the bed, Sherlock reached down to cup John’s jaw. “Thank you.” he whispered.

Another soft smile and a nod. John turned his head to kiss Sherlock’s palm before continuing to work. Sherlock let him go to his satisfaction before rolling over onto his side—a clear signal. John slid up the bed, spooning behind him. From this vantage point, he could see the battle field that was their bed. Ropes, toys, and various stains stretched across the sheets, and the enormous pump-bottle of lube on the bedside table topped off the whole vision. Whatever they had, it wasn’t normal, not by a long shot.

No… it was better.

The End


End file.
